


pang

by noblerot



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Naked Male Clothed Female, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Strap-Ons, Touch-Starved, Touching, Trans Male Character, fragile tops you know this in your heart to be true, this got soooo sappy unexpectedly haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblerot/pseuds/noblerot
Summary: She’d take the strain on her body any day if it means getting to see him like this. Getting to be this close to him.
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges/Fragile
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	pang

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for being such a fiend for sam/fragile but...there's just not enough of it...  
> set in the same continuity as my other fic with them but its just pwp so you don’t need to know anything other than They've Been Fuckin

The first time they fall into bed together after Sam’s return from the Beach, it’s equal parts strange and familiar.

Fragile’s tried to give him space, tried not to hover around him constantly the way the others do, though she’s just as loathe to let him out of her sight. Still, she doesn’t want to overstep. Doesn’t want to assume that anything has changed, or stayed the same for that matter. And so she doesn’t impose, doesn’t invite herself into his space until he calls for her again, late at night in his private room.

They haven’t talked about it, really. And they don’t talk about it tonight. This…whatever it is between them has been good so far, better than she could have asked for. She loves watching him, has enjoyed the rare occasions where he watches her. Sometimes she’s even called him just to hear the way his breathing gets shaky. But this is different, a new kind of desperate and urgent. Now Sam is so very alive, and here, and willing to be touched—within reason, of course.

Right now that means watching him writhe on the bed again as he pushes two fingers into himself, twisting his hips to get them deeper. Fragile curls by his side, face to face. She won’t put her hands on him unless he asks. Besides, it’s the closeness that she really craves: watching the desperate rise and fall of his chest as he pants, feeling the heat of his body, warm and real and close.

Though she does wish, like always, that she could get closer. He’s taking his time tonight, neither of them in a rush. A rare luxury. She’s fixated on his hand, watching the gentle, teasing motions and imagining. What it would feel like to touch Sam—how wet he would be, how tight—

“What’re you thinking.” He says, fondly. Sam is watching her watching him, unbothered. He’s used to her staring by now.

No point even trying to be subtle, and she’s never been good at it anyway. “That I really want to fuck you,” she says, breathless. Sam’s face goes bright red, and she stops. “Sorry, is that too—”

“It’s okay,” he says, a little too quick, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. He rolls onto his back, puts a hand over his face. “You could warn me first, fuck.”

The thing is, he’s not upset. She’s seen Sam upset, this is not it. A little uncomfortable, maybe, but not entirely against the idea. He hasn’t even stopped touching himself, his hand still moving in slow, lazy circles. The blush is starting to spread down his neck.

“I could, you know.” Fragile sits up to get a better look at him. She watches for his usual signs of displeasure, for the tension to rise in his shoulders, for him to shrink in on himself just slightly. But he seems _embarrassed_ more than anything. It’s cute. “Even if I can’t touch you. There are other options.”

Sam looks practically lost, keeps staring at her like he’s not sure he’s hearing her correctly. “Is this, are you fucking seducing me?” It’s almost the tone he has when he’s complaining to her about some ridiculous order. Like it’s a little inconvenient.

“Just making a proposal.” She moves to situate herself between his spread legs. Sam shifts automatically to make room for her, to leave just a little space between them. By now it’s like a familiar dance, their bodies are used to each other.

He exhales shakily. It’s the same kind of tension in the air between them as the first time they did this, a sudden stillness that freezes them both. Neither wanting to be the first to move forward nor back down. It’s ridiculous, feeling so suddenly nervous. It’s just Sam. She knows him, she wants him, there’s nothing to lose but time.

“What do you think, Sam?” Fragile holds eye contact with him then, as she leans down and ever so carefully kisses his inner thigh. He holds beautifully still for her, despite the slight tremor through his body. “Maybe. Yes.” His words come out quick, nearly interrupting himself. “Not your hands. Do you have—”

Fragile gives him a look as if to say _who do you take me for?_ And blinks momentarily out of existence.

She’s never jumped back and forth so fast in her life. By the time she reappears he’s already got most of his clothes off. She watches the flex of his chest and arms as he pulls his undershirt off too. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, but if she’s honest it’s always suddenly very hard to think when Sam strips down out in the field. And it’s so much worse like this with him laid out like this for her, exposed and trusting. Naked except for the cuffs and her miçanga still hanging off his wrist.

“You’re staring again.” There’s a new, warm undercurrent to his gruff voice. Is he actually teasing her?

Fragile shrugs. “You look good.” She says plainly, though that doesn’t begin to cover it.

She contemplates removing her own clothes, and settles for taking her jacket off. She’s been feeling better, lately, about not being fully covered, but right now she wants to be focused. Not distracted, not suddenly taken off guard by the existence of her own body. So this will have to be enough. The simple shirt she wears underneath to protect her skin still covers her arms up to the wrist. A little more of her neck shows, the bare top of her collarbone, the line where the damage starts. Sam’s eyes follow that line, but he doesn’t bring it up.

It’s easier to secure the harness over her clothes, anyway. Sam is watching closely as she puts it on, though there’s nothing really seductive about it. It’s a practiced thing, the way she carefully adjusts the base so it can rub against her just a little through her clothes.

He leans back unselfconsciously on the bed, propped up on his elbows. “We should talk. About how this is going to work.”

“Talk to me, then.” An anxious feeling catches in her throat, just slightly. Like if they slow down Sam might realize, suddenly that he doesn’t want this. That he doesn’t want her. It’s unreasonable, and she tries to swallow it down. “No touching?”

Sam shakes his head. “Like this is fine, I think, just…no hands.” Carefully, like easing into cold water, he shifts closer and then they’re in contact properly, legs brushing up against each other. He nods to himself, adjusting to the sensation. “Yeah, it's a little better with clothes on.”

“No hands.” Fragile braces one arm on either side of his body, her hands safely away from him. She feels the sudden, absurd urge to lean down and kiss his forehead. “Is this alright? You don’t feel trapped?”

“Come on. I carry cargo twice your size every day.” He scoffs a little, his gaze shifting slightly away from her. Fragile can’t help but notice that he didn’t answer the question.

“I know that.” She pauses, deciding how to put it delicately. “You don’t ever push me away, though. You freeze up. You back away. And right now you have nowhere to go.” Strong as Sam might be, he’s caught between her and the bed. “So I need to know now if you feel okay about that.”

Sam goes very still for a moment, something in his eyes that she can’t place and she worries she’s pushed him too far—or worse, that she’s right and he was just going along with this because she was being aggressive. But then he meets her eyes again and says, quietly. “You said yourself, you’ve seen me freeze up. So you’ll know if I do. I’ll be okay. With you.”

It stuns her completely. How does he always say just the thing to cut right through her doubts? Even now, even like this—

“Are _you_ okay?” Sam frowns up at her with concern.

She couldn't explain even if she tried, settles for, “More than okay.”

“Then come on.”

Sam grabbing at the harness, pulling her closer. His breathe catches as she obliges him, rubs the toy against him. “Impatient, aren’t you.” 

“Shut up.” He mutters, half-hearted, but they’re both smiling. And then she shuts him up in earnest.

From the moment she pushes in it’s exactly what she wanted. The closeness she felt before is nothing compared to this. Sam, warm and real beneath her. The contact where they’re joined.

Slowly, carefully, she rocks her hips forward. She’s focused on Sam’s face, looking for any signs of discomfort. But it’s clear that’s not what he’s feeling, not with that hungry look. “How’s this?”

Sam turns his head into the pillow and growls something that sounds like _good_. Fragile stills for a moment, looking down at him. Even though she can’t feel under all the layers, she can see how wet he is, feel how easy it is to move inside him. “Move,” he nearly snarls, “I’m not gonna break.” And then suddenly he’s pushing back against her, taking her deeper. She knows he’s strong but it’s different like this, watching his muscles tense, feeling the way his thighs flex around her.

Moving together is like second nature. Strange, how their bodies that have barely touched can know each other so well, but how could they not? It might not give her much, physically, but it doesn’t matter. It’s seeing him like this, flushed and panting and gorgeous and knowing it’s because of her.

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, curling and uncurling them in the sheets, grasping for something that isn’t there. If she could touch, she’d hold them tight or pin them up above him. The blush has spread across his whole body. It’s delicious. Fragile wants to run her hands everywhere, over his scar, up his chest. Wants to grab his thighs and push them down. Instead she digs her fingers into the mattress.

“Just because I can’t touch doesn’t mean you can’t.” Sam huffs at that and his hand twitches almost instinctively. But he doesn’t move, too wrapped up in the rhythm, arcing to meet her thrusts. If he needs a little encouragement, she’s happy to provide. “Go on. I want you to.”

The effect is instant. His hand goes to his chest, petting at the soft flesh and muscle, making himself whine. She wishes, still, that she could place her hands where his are moving right now. But it’s enough, more than enough, to take in the view.

She compensates by fucking him harder, paying attention to which angles pull sweet little sighs and groans out of him. What makes him writhe, what spot makes the muscle of his legs twitch and tense. The harder she moves the better she can feel it, just enough friction to light her up, not enough to actually get her anywhere. It just makes her more desperate, though for what she can’t exactly say. For the beauty of his body and its motion. For the trust he’s put in her. For the chance to spoil him for once—Sam is always working so hard, wearing himself out. She wants to take care of him, to make him feel nothing but good, at least for a moment.

Fragile moves closer so she’s pressing his legs back and apart, the angle deeper, bottoming out with every thrust. By now she knows Sam well enough to know when he’s close to the edge. There’s a very particular way he starts to shake, the way he bites his lip and sets his jaw firm like he’s trying to hold it off, hold himself together. “Come on, Sam,” she murmurs soft words of encouragement, knowing he won’t be able to hold back if she orders him. “There you go, let me see you.” It’s enough, and he comes undone against her.

His face is so beautiful when he comes, although his head snaps backward almost violently, his back arching off the bed. His eyes closed, his mouth open. Pleasure so written on his face she can almost feel it herself. She wishes she could have her fingers in him now, feeling every little pulse and twitch, how wet he must be. But this is enough. Watching his whole body shake through the aftershocks, she can imagine.

“Fuck.” Sam sighs and melts a little, settles heavy into the bed, lets his arms drop back to his sides. His breathing is hard but calm, his eyes still fluttering. He looks worn-out. Peaceful. She chooses that moment to start moving again, grinding deep against him. “ _Fuck_ , Fragile—” Whatever else he might say is cut off by his gasp, his full body shudder. His eyes have snapped open.

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s a little teasing, but a genuine question. She watches him carefully, looking for any signs of tension or displeasure.

When Sam doesn’t answer, she stops. Immediately she feels his thighs tighten around her again, holding her in him, pulling her closer. “Sam. I need an answer.”

“You’re the worst.” He growls, sounding so genuinely put out it makes her laugh. “No, fuck, I don’t.”

It’s fun, the more assertive side of him that’s grown since they met. Sam always likes when she pushes for what she wants, but more than that, she suspects he likes being made to admit his own needs.

Fragile starts off slow again, teasing, forcing him to cant his hips up to get any real friction. But they pick up their pace quickly. Now that he’s more relaxed she can fuck him in earnest, really drive into him. The pressure is sending little flickers of heat through her. He’s soaking wet, the slick evidence of his orgasm now across their thighs. The overstimulation has made him so much more reactive. Sam is noisy the way he always is, not in words but in little sounds, grunts and growls that he’s no longer even trying to hold back.

“Harder,” Sam bites out, “I need—” A jolt of something possessive burns through her, that he needs her, that _she_ is the one making him feel this. He can’t seem to hold still at all, sheer sensation overwhelming any modesty. Each movement draws a sound out of him. His fists curl and claw at the sheets and she wants them on her skin.

Every part of her aches to get closer to him, the impulse so raw it’s hard to deny. With every movement she lets herself fall forward a little more. Until they’re nearly chest to chest, a scant few centimeters between them. Her arms are getting sore, but it’s worth it. All that matters is how near he is, how she can feel the warmth radiating from him.

She means to ask if he’s alright, really. But then Sam hooks a leg around her—fuck, she thinks, is he always that strong—pulling her closer. Closing that last space between them, so they’re pressed together. It’s enough to drag an incoherent whine out of her. Fragile almost regrets keeping her clothes on. She feels like she’s burning up under it all, under her skin.

Then he’s sliding his hand between them so he can touch himself and she can _feel_ it. It’s excruciatingly vivid, the shape and weight of his hand even through her clothes, the stifled little motions he makes, hard for him to move with no space between them. Still he manages, stroking his clit in short desperate movements. She feels every bit of it, feels Sam start to tremble again.

There’s no chance of him holding it back this time. He comes hard with a low, drawn-out moan that seems almost ripped from his throat. Still his hips don’t stop moving, rutting against her uncontrollably. His body presses up against her everywhere, holding her in place, unthinking and untroubled by it just for a moment.

It’s so good it’s overwhelming, being so close to Sam. Surrounded by him, inside him. The weight of his body is solid and warm. He’s the only thing she can think about and it’s suddenly too much, a sharp current suddenly running through her like she’s been shocked. Fragile reaches instinctively out and grasps not at his hand but the miçanga still on his wrist. And falls apart still pulling on it, her fingers carefully hooked under just barely avoiding his skin. She buries her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and stifles the noise as she comes. Her body loses the rhythm but she’s still pushing into him, trying desperately to get closer, closer, closer.

She’s left wrung-out and stunned, collapsed against him. She didn’t expect—any of that, really, didn’t even think she could get off from this. Not that she’s complaining. They remain pressed together for a moment, trying to catch their breath. The only thought in her mind is how surprisingly soft his skin is.

It’s only seconds before Sam starts to twist underneath her. “Too much,” he gasps out. Fragile snaps to attention and moves back immediately, tries to give him some space even though her limbs feel practically liquid. He’s shaking as she pulls out, overstimulated in every sense.

As soon as she moves off he relaxes back into the bed, still breathing hard. Fragile rolls onto her back next to him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Fuck.” Sam’s voice is rough and raw. His hands go to his face again, trying uselessly to cover how flushed he is. “I’m good. Little too good.”

“Sorry. I got carried away.”

“You don’t usually get like that.” Sam sounds—not angry, but quiet. Curious. And he’s right, she usually tries to keep a tighter hold on herself. She’s going to apologize again when he cuts her off. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

It’s a relief, because she can’t help that Sam brings this out in her, good and bad. Both the desperation and the desire at the heart of it. She’s not used to it, hasn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time, if ever.

Fragile leans up on her side so she can take him in. To check up on him, sure, but once she starts looking at him it’s hard to stop. Sam is still just as beautiful like this. The blush is settling into his skin now, under the shine of sweat. His whole body looks relaxed for once, less tense for just a moment. Once more, he catches her staring, and looks like he wants to ask what she’s thinking again. But he just ends up giving a contented little sigh, his eyes fluttering almost closed.

She stretches out, ignoring the ache all through her body, and moves as close to him as she dares. Her thighs and hips fucking hurt, and she’s not looking forward to seeing the inevitable bruises next time she undresses. “Wish we had done this when I was younger,” she says, though she mostly doesn’t mean it. She’d take the strain on her body any day if it means getting to see him like this. Getting to be this close to him.

Sam frowns. “Don’t say shit like that. You know you’re—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head a little. “I’m older than you anyway.”

Fragile stares at him. _I’m what?_ She wants to ask, but knows better. He’s not a talker, and she won’t risk ruining the delicate moment. _I know I’m what, Sam?_

“I’m glad we did now,” she says instead, and moves a little closer.


End file.
